


Magic Boy Wonder and His Misfit Pack

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Apocalypse, BAMF Stiles, Chis is a sad sad man, Civil War, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fae!Allison, Full Shift Werewolves, Hurt Derek, Hurt Peter, M/M, Magic Revealed, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Multi, POV Multiple, Sort of? - Freeform, War, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Mates, Wolf Derek, cora is not hurt but uh i donno if thats a win or not given the givens, who suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, then, welcome to the apocalypse! Or whatever. People found out the supernatural was a thing. Of course, you know us Americans. Our unofficial motto is ‘if you don’t understand it, shoot it.’ Humans are on one side of the states, we’re on another.”</p>
<p>Peter sniffed, and then raised an eyebrow. “You’re human, Stiles.”</p>
<p>Stiles fixed at him with a big, unblinking stare. “Not so much, no.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Boy Wonder and His Misfit Pack

Peter stirred, his head throbbing in a familiar way. Wolfsbane. Enough to render him basically useless, and maybe half dead.

“C’mon - you need to chain him up,” a gentle female voice said, shifting closer. “We can’t have him free to roam as we work on finding the bullet. He’ll kill the first person he sees, whether he means to or not, once it gets bad enough.”

“Mkay. Should we use the mountain ash chains? I think we should use the mountain ash chains.” a familiar voice said. A rustling and then the sound of clanking metal assaulted his sensitive ears. He whined.

“Better safe than sorry, I’d think,” the female voice said, moving away from where Peter lay. “I’m going to go see Ally, She’s calling me. Sargo — watch over Stiles. If Peter attacks, don’t kill him.”

There was a bout of vocal silence, where the only sounds were the clinking of metal and the steady thrum of Stiles’ heartbeat.

Peter opened his eyes a sliver.

A huge creature with glowing red eyes was staring at him from the other side of the room. It wasn’t a wolf, which was a relief — he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with an alpha near him at the moment. But that feeling quickly turned to dread when he really saw what the creature was. The red eyes and huge, looming figure made of solid shadows, along with its white, gumless maw of large, needle like teeth was enough to identify it as a hellhound.

Stiles had his back to the hound, knelt down on his knees. He was facing Peter as he sorted through the chains on the floor, untangling them. He obviously trusted the hellhound enough to turn his back on it.

“Whas...?”  Peter slurred, annoyed that his question didn’t come out properly.

Stiles looked up from the chains to fix him with his stare.

Peter stared back, surprised. Stiles wasn’t the least bit scared or at all frightened, his heart and breathing steady. His eyes were darker than Peter remembered, and his face was harder, less innocent. From what he could see, Stiles’ arms and neck were covered in black, magical tattoos, and he could hazard a guess that the rest of his body was covered in them, because that’s how tattoo magic worked. You had to commit to it to get the full power.

Stiles eyed him and then said, “Hey. We’re gonna have to confine you for now. The wolfsbane in your system is a rare one, we think. Slow to kill, or else you’d be dead by now. A bitch to find, because we can’t find it in any of our books. So you’ll have to wait it out as we track down who shot you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Peter asked, trying to pull himself up more. He ended up collapsing even further to the floor.

“Me, you, a couple of my friends.” Stiles said, not really elaborating.

“I see you’ve got a hell of a hound, there.” Peter wheezed, his left side hurting. He forced his hand to press against whatever it was, finding a bandaged wound. The bullet wound, most likely.

Stiles glanced at the hellhound and snorted. “Funny. Now stop trying to move. You’ll just make it worse.”

Peter eyed him, and then said, “What are you doing out of California?”

Stiles snorted again, and yanked on the chains he was trying to separate a little too harshly. “Surviving.”

“Did you and Scotty get in a fight?” Peter asked, trying for teasing but just sounding breathless and in pain.

“Scott is a fucking idiot,” Stiles said, tone surprisingly mild. “He wanted to do everything  _ right _ , in a world where the straightforward,  _ nice _ thing isn’t always the  _ best _ thing. Plus, I got tired of Beacon Hills. That place is a death trap.”

Peter made a thoughtful noise. “Not that I don’t agree — but don’t you feel a little like you abandoned them? Where’s your dad?” he needed to prod a little more to figure out where Stiles’ mentality was at. He clearly wasn’t the spaz kid he once knew.

“My dad’s dead,” Stiles said flatly, making Peter wince. “Scott didn’t want to kill a demon, because, y’know — demons  _ totally _ have a history of being able to turn around to the good side — so the demon killed my dad. I skipped town a month later. Found some people. Learned some things.” he finally pulled the chains free, standing up to shake them out.

“So, how’d you find  _ me _ ?” Peter wondered.

“Honestly? You were on the side of the road, running away from something. Probably hunters. You weren’t exactly Mr All There at that point. We’re trying to find the people so we can take a bullet. That, or we know someone who could make an antidote, and they owe me a favor — and no offence, but, I’d rather not use that favor to save your sorry ass.”

Peter tried to smirk through the pain. “None taken.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t’ve cared if you did,” Stiles said breezily. He turned to the hellhound. “Sargo.”

The hound took a step closer, its eyes staying unwaveringly steady on Peter. Its shadowy paws were the size of his head. Even if he was in his full strength, Peter wouldn’t ever stand a chance against it in a fight.

“Watch him while I go get Lana.”

The hound let out a rattling sound, which reminded Peter of shaking a bag of bones. It sat on its haunches and continued to stare at him. Peter stared back, useless and uneasy.

“Are you sure leaving me with this beast is the best idea?” He wondered aloud.

“He’s domesticated,” Stiles said, and then left the room.

“Oh, yes, great, why didn’t I think of that? He must have his sixty day token from anger management as well, the perfect picture of reformed.” Peter snarked in the direction of the doorway.

The hound didn’t even move a centimeter or blink once for ten minutes straight. Peter found himself a little bit preoccupied with the fact that he was, truely, dying a very slow and painful death. He looked down at himself and found he was shirtless. Which was fine, y’know, whatever, enjoy the view and so on — he really wasn’t in the mood to be his usual brand of Peterness — but the large bandage on his left side throbbed like a son of a bitch and his body was shaking with the effort to stay awake.

Stiles’ voice trailed in from the hallway, but he couldn’t focus his hearing enough through the pain to distinguish words.

He got closer and closer to Peter until he was in the doorway, a frown on his face. Behind him, a woman with dark skin and hair down to her knees followed, her eyes shifting from bronze to silver and back again as her gaze drifted over Peter’s form.

“He’ll be fine,” she said, “Stiles.”

He glanced at her, and then they both moved towards him. Stiles grabbed Peter’s arms, lifting him up to the wall. Rings were embedded into the wall, and as he watched, vision a little blurry from the pain, the woman stepped up and strung the chains through the rings with practiced ease.

“Sargo, go tell Ara and Ally to hurry up.” The woman said, and the hellhound stood and trotted out of the room.

“They’re not here, though,” Stiles said, annoyed. “He’ll have to Skip there. Ara already had to. Isn’t that a bit much?”

The woman shrugged. “Oh, well. Noe found the hunters. They’re on their way, just moving slowly. As they do.”

“Hello,” Peter greeted, rolling his eyes, once it was obvious they weren’t going to acknowledge him. “Nice to meet you. My name is Peter. And you are...?”

The woman’s eyes flicked over his face and then back to the chains as she clamped the cuffs at the end to his wrists. “Hello, my name is Lana. Please hold as still as you can. The more you move, the faster your heartbeat is, the quicker the poison eats your blood alive.”

Well wasn’t she just a delight.

She checked the chains and then turned and left the room without a goodbye.

“I take it she doesn’t care for me much,” Peter mused.

Stiles actually cracks a smile, which looks a bit feral. Peter drinks it in, liking what he sees.

“She does. Well, actually, she likes my  _ stories _ of you. But she’s not one to stay and chat.”

Peter let his gaze wander his figure before he said, “so, why are you saving me, exactly?”

Stiles moved back to sit on the floor, far away enough that the chains would keep him a foot away at all times.

He looked thoughtful for a minute before shrugging. “As I’ve grown and seen things, I’ve come to understand you a little more,” he said, truthfully. That, or he had become the best liar Peter had ever known. “Do you know what’s happened recently?”

Peter shook his head, face twisted in a wince. “I’ve been in the woods for a few years.” If he were honest, which he most certainly was not going to be at this point, he’d tell him that he’d lost himself for a year or so. He hadn’t wanted to think of anything, or else his thoughts just filled with smoke and screams, so he had handed the reins over to the wolf. A little vacation from his mind.

“Well, then, welcome to the apocalypse! Or whatever. People found out the supernatural was a thing. Of course, you know us Americans. Our unofficial motto is ‘if you don’t understand it, shoot it.’ Humans are on one side of the states, we’re on another.”

Peter sniffed, and then raised an eyebrow. “ _ You’re _ human, Stiles.”

Stiles fixed at him with a big, unblinking stare. “Not so much, no.”

Before he could ask, Sargo trotted back in, with a girl riding on its back. She slid off of the hellhound, flicked something at Stiles on the way down, and he caught it. They both looked down at his hands. A bullet.

“Not wolfsbane,” the girl said, sounding less than pleased. “Something else. Probably a strand of some sort of elusive poison from bumfuck nowhere.” Her long brown hair was weaved into a braid, which had all sorts of flowers and leaves tucked into the folds. Her eyes were a shocking shade of neon orange. She looked a bit familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Shit.” Stiles moved to leave with the bullet, and then paused. His face sifted through a few subtle emotions and trains of thought and he turned to look at Peter before he said, “Okay. Take this to Noe. Maybe he can figure something out.” He threw it back at her, and she didn’t even bother to catch it. Sargo’s maw opened and he caught it between his jagged teeth, almost delicately.

“Alright. Hey, Peter. Long time no see,” she said, and then left with the hellhound at her heels.

Peter blinked after her, and then groaned as his body convulsed in pain. A few minutes ticked by, and he almost blacked out twice, but he got the pain under control after a bit of a struggle with is body and his wolf. He looked up at Stiles, who was back on the floor with a small book in his hands, reading. “Do I know her?”

Stiles looked up at him with both eyebrows raised. “Yes. That’s Allison. Or, at least, the second coming of Allison. I sort of summoned her on accident a year ago. Turns out her next form was going to be not-so-human. She’s fae.”

“Explains the hippy hair,” Peter said, trying to come across nonchalant but ending up sounding like he just swallowed a bucket of rusty nails. His pain tolerance was weakening and he could feel the high from it coming on very shortly.

Stiles huffed. “It’s how she always is. She never does her hair. It just does that.”

“So, if that’s Allison, who’s Ara and Lana? Noe? Did you just pick up random people? Make a little pack of your own? How’d that happen?”

Stiles’ expression closed off, body shifting away as he said, “Hilarious.”

“I’m honestly curious,” Peter said, which was the truth. Stiles was _different_ now, and it intrigued him.

Stiles studied him and fidgeted a bit with the book in his hands before sighing and shrugging. “Okay. I'll tell you now because I’m tired, and I haven't rambled all day, so I sort of need it. I can be all stotic and clipped later. Whatever. So.” He cleared is throat and cracked his neck. Peter gave him an amused look, and then groaned at a wave of pain.

“I'll start with the basics. Such as, the second civil war, which is what we’re calling it. Them, not so much. They think we’re imposters, or something equally stupid and offensive. Y’know, the whole,  _ ‘I haven’t seen them before, so they must not have been there, and now they’re everywhere!’ _ argument, like we haven’t been around longer than the human race.” His nose scrunched up and he muttered, “I really could care less about their bullshit, if it essentially didn’t hurt all of the magical world. The hunters, of course, milked the fear of the unknown and gave people guns and the bare basics. So it’s not like they know nothing about us, and are going in guns blazing but totally blind. They have some knowledge. The hunters made sure of that.” His tone turned sour, and he looked down at his hands, eyes tracing the tattoos in his skin.

“I had just left, and I was running for Oregon... We’re trying to find a way to Canada now, since the whole thing wasn’t such a big deal there. Apparently, more than half the human population already knew about us there, so it was less...” He made finger guns and moved his thumb to signify gunfire. “Anyway, I just left Beacon Hills when the fight broke out and shit got real. I could pass for heavily tattooed weirdo human for a little while, but then I got shot by some idiot and I got stuck in a gross, overcrowded hospital and I was like, fuck this, I could heal this in just a few days, I’m outtie.”

Peter huffed, wincing when the movement of his chest hurt his wound.

“So I was in the woods for a little bit. And... well, I got  _ really _ lonely. Everyone who was anything that went bump in the night avoided me like the plague, because I was a bit... forward, with my power. I hadn’t yet learned how to contain it when I wasn’t using it. So I was radiating magic, and that, of course, freaked everyone else out.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “So at first I was like, ‘whatever, who needs friends?’ but that quickly was answered, because who was I kidding?  _ Stiles _ needed friends. And then I found a book on summoning when I was raiding an old house, and I gave it a shot. That’s when Allison came. She was actually just about to be transitioned into the whole rebirth stage, and I caught her just when she turned fae, but not before they took her memories so she could be a baby.” He shrugged, then, and said, “surprisingly, she was happy to see me, not so surprisingly, she was not so happy about  _ why _ she was seeing me in the first place. But I couldn’t send her back, because she was in the mortal plane and once you’re here, you’re sort of stuck until you keel over again.”

He flung his hands out in a  _ what can you do? _ sort of gesture and then continued with his story. “So me and Ally started figuring stuff out, together. And she risked a trip to her dad, who was laying low, since he wasn’t all that much into hunting anymore. He freaked out, of course, shoved everything we asked for at us and then begged her to leave so she wouldn’t get caught. We still communicate every month, so he can tell us what’s going on on the human side of things, and we can... help him out, with some stuff.”

Peter raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment on Stiles’ obvious pause.

“Then we met Lana and Ara and Noe. They’re foster siblings. Got separated from their foster mom and dad the night shit went down, and fled. They’re... good people.”

There was something he wasn’t telling him, and if the way he said their names were any indication, it had to do with Lana. His voice held a bit of resentment when he said her name, and a hint of frustration. But Peter wasn’t going to ask, not out of the goodness of his heart, but because he quite literally could not speak.

The pain was getting to be too much. He was going to black out within a few minutes.

He struggled against the chains and growled.

Stiles looked up and smiled sadly. “I know, big guy. Just a few more hours. We’ll figure it out.”

Peter's wolf roared.

**Author's Note:**

> Peter’s sort of a unreliable narrator in this. He thinks a few seconds go by, or a few minutes, when in reality its been like, an hour. He’s poisoned — so can you blame the guy?


End file.
